


Lemon Juice

by OTPshipper98



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bruising, Drunken sex, M/M, Scratching, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:54:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23214385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OTPshipper98/pseuds/OTPshipper98
Summary: This is the first time in years they see each other during the daytime. Malfoy, Harry soon realises, enjoys teasing him just as much as he does during their nightly encounters.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 22
Kudos: 166





	Lemon Juice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [100SleeplessNights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/100SleeplessNights/gifts).



> Written for the prompt "lemon juice", sent on Tumblr by satans-trainee (100SleeplessNights)-- thanks! 💕 And thanks to M0stlyVoid for betaing!

The sun warmed the nape of Harry’s neck as it descended toward the forest, the air filled with shrieks and laughter as Teddy and his friends chased one another in Andromeda’s backyard.

Harry couldn’t focus on any of it, a thousand memories—a thousand _sensations_ —flooding his mind as he felt the heat of Malfoy’s body right beside his own. Memories of Malfoy’s mouth trailing down his torso, laving his nipples, leaving marks around his navel. Of Malfoy taking him throat-deep into his mouth as he caressed, gripped, _scratched_ Harry’s thighs; as he teased Harry’s nipples, as he held Harry’s waist with strong, warm hands and encouraged him to fuck into his mouth...

_Fuck_. He needed to stop thinking about it. 

Why Malfoy had decided to sit beside him at Teddy’s birthday party was beyond Harry. They weren’t friends. They didn’t know each other, and the fact Pansy and Ron got on decently at work couldn’t even pass as an excuse for Harry and Malfoy to claim they had friends in common. They were just, well… 

_“Turn me around.”_

_Breath hitching, Harry complied, grabbing Malfoy’s hips and helping him face Harry—helping him crawl into Harry’s lap, and then fucking into him again._

_Malfoy moaned deliciously, his hands covering Harry’s and pressing them roughly against his hips. Mouthing at Harry’s throat, Malfoy whined, “Rougher, Potter. Manhandle me like I know you can.”_

Feeling hot all over, Harry kept his eyes carefully trained on the glass of homemade lemon juice Andromeda had poured him. A part of him wished it was Firewhisky; he usually downed his glass whenever he spotted Malfoy at the club, if only to drown the stream of thoughts—memories, _doubts_ —and be able to just be in the moment. To feel the moment Malfoy finally approached him, the moment Malfoy finally put his hands, his mouth all over him. 

The moment Malfoy Disapparated them home. 

_The juice. Focus on the juice._

Beside him, and probably not as oblivious as he let show to Harry’s inner struggle, Malfoy laughed at what the mother of one of the kids was telling him. 

The sound sent a wave of thrill through Harry’s veins. He knew it, intimately. Knew the twitch of Malfoy’s lips that always came with it, the quirk of his eyebrows, the glint of his eyes. Associated it with Malfoy’s hands roaming his chest, Malfoy’s long fingers circling his spit-wet nipples; with Malfoy teasing him, tormenting him, and then finally, _finally_ curling his hand around Harry’s cock and watching cheekily as he made Harry come. 

Harry took a big gulp of the juice, then pressed his sweaty palms against the bench by his sides, willing his mind away from his drunken memories. 

Just then, Malfoy moved his hand down to scratch absentmindedly at his thigh, still talking to the woman beside him.

His knuckles brushed Harry’s hand on their way back up.

Harry’s breath hitched.

_Malfoy’s thighs clenched as he thrust into Harry; Harry felt it under his needy grasp, felt it as he gasped and keened and lifted his hips, begging for more._

_What he got instead were Malfoy’s hands covering his._

_“Harry.” His name always slipped so easily from Malfoy’s mouth when they were like this. It sent a shiver down Harry’s back, and he breathed out unsteadily as Malfoy’s hands pressed down on his own, making his fingers sink into Malfoy’s skin. “Bruise me.”_

Harry felt hot all over. Could Malfoy still have those marks on him? Was that why he was scratching his thigh? He never had any marks from their previous encounters when they ended up in Malfoy’s bed again, but Harry didn’t know _when_ exactly Malfoy was magically healing them. Perhaps this was his way of telling Harry he had kept them there; that he was thinking about them, too. 

Fuck, but the mental image of Malfoy running his fingers over his clothes and remembering what he’d asked Harry to do to him shouldn’t be so arousing. He had never even considered the idea that their nights together crossed Malfoy’s mind when they weren’t desperately clashing against one another at the club, drunk and horny and uninhibited. Hell, _he_ ’d been trying so hard to go about his life without thinking of Malfoy. The idea that Malfoy might have been deciding to not heal his bruises, to not erase the evidence of what they had done together… 

There was a small kid’s cry in the distance, and the woman Draco had been chatting with left the table. A few other people were nearby, but not close enough that he and Malfoy could pretend they weren’t alone. 

Harry glared at him and, when Malfoy didn’t look back at him, hissed, “What are you playing at?”

Malfoy took a long sip of his juice. Put the glass back down with a careful, infuriatingly slow movement. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“ _Please_. You know me well enough to know I don’t buy that.”

Malfoy smirked—side-eyed Harry, his gaze falling to Harry’s lips with his next exhale. 

“I know you well enough to know you’ve been thinking about us all day.” 

“ _Tsk_.” Harry rolled his eyes—prayed the heat that was soaring through his body wasn’t showing on his face. “What were you expecting, sitting by my side when we don’t even know each other outside of your bloody bed?” 

He tried to sound offended, but his voice faltered when Malfoy’s eyes met his, steady. Intense. 

“You were thinking about us _long_ before I sat down here, Harry.” 

Malfoy’s hand was back on his, with purpose this time, but Harry could do nothing but stare down at it, mind blank. Malfoy had called him _Harry_. Had murmured it, voice low and deep, right in the middle of Andromeda’s garden, in plain daylight. 

Malfoy dragged Harry’s hand across the bench and pressed it to the side of his thigh.

“I’ve been thinking about us, too.”

“Oh, God,” was all Harry could breathe out, mind dizzy with thrill, with arousal. 

A group of people walked up to them—grabbed some drinks, sat down around them. Malfoy joined the conversation, but Harry couldn’t process a single word they were saying; his hand was back on the bench, and Malfoy’s was too, and their pinkies were brushing under the table. Slowly, softly. A dare, a threat; a promise. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr at @rockmarina!


End file.
